


All This Aggravation

by TrueMyth



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - And Then They Had Sex, Canon Rewrite, Dodger - Freeform, Episode: s01e15 Dodger, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Foundry smut, McKenna Hall - Freeform, Season/Series 01, Shameless Smut, Smut in every chapter, That Damn Gold Dress, Vault smut, and then they had sex, motorcycle smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-04 17:02:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4145676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueMyth/pseuds/TrueMyth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver Queen got more than he bargained for when he added Felicity Smoak to his team.  What happens when Felicity refuses to be intimidated, and Oliver refuses to back down?  Smut.  The answer is always smut.</p><p>This is a retelling of season 1, episode 15 "Dodger."</p><p>-----------------------<br/><i>"I should have some say in who enjoys your adrenalin tonight!”</i></p><p>  <i>Now Oliver was the one blinking as skin-filled images flashed with lightning speed across his mind's eye.</i></p><p>  <i>“Not that I want input on how you spend your night-nights,” she clarified. “Besides, that's really endorphins not adrenalin, although both are generated during strenuous exercise. And pheromones. Because of all the sweat. So much sw – What is wrong with my mouth?”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Little Less Fight

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to hellopoe for amazing cheerleading and story suggestions, to afrocurl for weeding out the persnickety bits, and to pigy190 for taking the time to help with a revision of chapter one and three. Any mistakes are mine!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters or some of the dialogue; Warner Brothers and DC Comics do. Title and chapter titles are from "A Little Less Conversation" by Mac Davis and Billy Strange, originally sung by Elvis Presley.

The blood was pounding in his veins as the Hood strode to the foundry door prepared to put the fear of God into Ken Williams. He grabbed the cold metal handle, pulled… and met resistance.

He tugged again with muscles primed for violence. Nothing.

He reentered the master code. Nothing.

Even Diggle didn't know how to trigger a complete lockdown of the system, which could only mean...

“Felicity!”

He saw her jump at the barking of her name, her blonde curls bouncing against her red cardigan.

“Did you just –”

“– computer override your lock?” She glanced down as she twirled in her chair, only meeting his eyes at last with a wince and the tilt of her head that normally put a smile on his lips. She conceded, “Maybe a little.”

This made no sense.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, forcing himself to relax as Dig approached from the training area.

Felicity squirmed in her seat as she beseeched him on behalf of Williams and his 10 year-old son. As if he would hurt the boy or do lasting damage to the father, as if he couldn't make a call in the field, as if it was her place to dictate where he aimed his arrows. Oliver glanced at Diggle, who only shrugged.

Then she made an appeal that he couldn't ignore. “Has it ever occurred to you, you could do some real good in this city,” she asked. Her eyes were a wide, innocent blue as her pink lips continued with derision, “beyond just recovering people's stock portfolios and their savings accounts.”

Exactly why did she think he was doing this? He wasn't throwing money around like some trust-fund brat or running a neighborhood watch. He'd thought she could see that. What he did mattered. His father's list mattered.

Oliver leaned into her space, one hand on her near armrest, the other hand deft upon her keyboard as he unlocked the system. Her breath feathered across his Adam's apple, but he ignored it.

Purposely intimidating, he whispered low, “You're not the only one who knows how to reboot my system.” He stared at her intently, willing her to break.

She blinked and shook her head before saying, “I made a mistake.”

Of course, it was a mistake to get in his way. She needed to understand, to comply, to support his mission. He still held her caged, a hand on either side, hovering so close that he could smell the sweet scent of her hair. A part of him watched the Hood assert his dominance, waiting for Felicity to crumble or deflate and lose that spark that made her call him out to his face. He didn't want her to lose it, but the mission was more important. And right now, the mission required Felicity Smoak to do as he expected.

He growled, “Getting in my way? I don't disagree.”

“No!” She pushed into his space, and he pulled back in surprise. She was standing, pushing back her chair until it rattled the desk behind her. Her skirt hissed along his leather-clad thigh as they each refused to give further ground. Brazenly, Felicity declared her mistake had been signing on with him. Her small chin jutted out in defiance, bringing her words closer to him.

She shifted, as if to leave, but he held fast to the armrest and desk, holding her gaze.

“Dig, will you give us a minute?” Oliver ground out, his voice deepening with each utterance, never breaking contact with Felicity.

Diggle hummed a “Mm-hum,” as he crossed to the stairs to Verdant. He muttered something under his breath, but neither Oliver nor Felicity reacted; they remained locked in their silent battle of wills.

Her body was vibrating with tension. Fear, obviously, yet, just before he began to curse himself as a bully and back away, her candy-pink lips quirked tightly before overflowing with unexpected words, “Okay, so you're terrifying with your brooding stare and jawbone of righteousness and that deep voice that makes me – never mind – the point is: this whole thing was a mistake, and I'm leaving. Now.” She raised her eyebrows, expecting him to step aside and let her sashay out of his secret lair after rescinding her offer to help.

She was so aggravating.

Oliver claimed a bit more of the narrow space between their bodies.

“There are a few things we need to get straight before you leave,” he said.

“You can't keep me here all night.” Felicity called his bluff and shoved firmly against his chest.

He didn't move. In her frustration she flexed her small hands against his leather jacket and puffed a small, minty burst of exasperation across his lips.

He couldn't help himself.

He licked his lips.

His tongue tasted the air between them, and now Felicity wasn't meeting his gaze; she was staring at his lips. Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth, reemerging moist and plump. Which meant he was staring at her lips, too, dammit.

He cupped her upper arms, taking a step back, looking determinedly into her eyes. Ignoring the soft wool of her sweater and the softer woman beneath, ignoring the sweet scent filling his every breath, ignoring the brush of one of her thumbs along the exposed pulse-point of his neck as her hands fanned atop his shoulders.

“Fe-li-ci-ty.”

She blinked. Her gaze was much less focused when it returned to his.

He continued, “I get worked up on adrenalin after a workout, but that doesn't mean I'm going to kill anyone tonight. You need to trust me to make the right call.”

First she nodded. “I do trust you, Oliver.” Her right hand was hovering over his heart now. Then she gave her head a shake, eyes narrowing. “But when you brought me in to help, you got more than an in-house I.T. Girl. I should have some say in who enjoys your adrenalin tonight!”

Now he was the one blinking as skin-filled images flashed with lightning speed across his mind's eye.

“Not that I want input on how you spend your night-nights,” she clarified. “Besides, that's really endorphins not adrenalin, although both are generated during strenuous exercise. And pheromones. Because of all the sweat. So much sw – What is wrong with my mouth?”

He didn't look at her mouth to check. Her hands had dropped to her sides. Not that he missed them. They shouldn't be touching like this. Like...

When had his thumbs started rubbing arcs up her shoulders?

His pulled his hands away. His cheeks felt hot, and he still wanted to punch something, and he was totally still looking at her mouth.

Which was how he missed it.

Until now, ever time Felicity had one of her adorable, inappropriate outbursts, she'd flushed a lovely shade of pink and quickly changed the subject. She was so honest and efficient and delightful; unlike anyone he'd ever met. He'd finally figured her out, realized what an asset she would be to his mission. The Felicity he'd prepared for should be using his distraction to run up the foundry steps, possibly with one final quip. So when she did not, Oliver had no plan in place.

Because suddenly that lush, pink mouth was growing closer, a firm grip on his cowl pulling him down to her level, and they were kissing.

Oh, fuck, it was better than he'd imagined.

She kissed with her whole being. Even the first chaste caress of her lips resonated with intent and longing and joy. He responded before he could think, instinct answering her enthusiasm before reason could dissuaded. Reason and thought returned, and Oliver paused. Hesitation cost him everything. Gained him everything.

Felicity wasn't hesitant. She demanded a response. Her lips slid sinfully on his now, entreating and inviting along his lower lip, parting to allow the flicker of her tongue. She made a small sound of contentment at his taste, and he was lost.

His arms closed around her back, reading the braille of her backbone while silken curls whispered across his forearms; his hands cupped her head and neck, the seat of all her wit and wisdom filling his palms; his fingers threading into the base of her damn ponytail while their mouths opened and their tongues dueled. He couldn't get enough the taste of her, fresh and sweet, and he growled with frustration when she pulled away. But she followed the line of his jaw, nipping a maddening trail and then suckling at the pulse-point of his neck. He moaned, and she smiled against his skin.

“Felicity?” He grasped for his wits. “What are you doing?”

Pulling her head back, she tilted her head slightly and gave him that Felicity-look, the one that had cut through all his Ollie-B.S. “I would have thought that was obvious,” she retorted.

She was pressed against him, every exasperating, provoking, honest inch of her. Pressing against his obvious interest. One of his hands had made its way to the curve of her hip, and his fingers fluttered without permission. The corner of her mouth quirked up, and he had to taste her smile again. His blood was pounding in his ears while sensations overwhelmed him and he warred with himself, listing all the reasons this shouldn't happen and all the reasons why it should.

When his jacket parted, he barely noticed the action of its zipper until he registered that she was sliding down his body with delicious friction. He blinked, and she was smirking up at him on her knees.

Felicity deliberately removed her glasses while holding eye contact. It was the sexiest thing he'd seen in a long, long time.

Then she completed her answer, “I'm distracting you.” A second zipper split the silence of the foundry.

What? His mind struggled to catch up to his body.

Then it shut down completely as her small, dexterous fingers encircled his shaft. She took his cock into her mouth, nearly rocking him back on his heels.

Her mouth was just as wicked as every innuendo foretold. Hot and silken, he was enveloped in the amazing pressure while her tongue flirted and teased with the underside. She guided him in and out with precision, swirling her tongue over his tip before taking him more deeply. Oliver's breathing was labored, his hands limp on the curve of her neck, the Hood's uniform clefted down the middle while this golden firebrand worked him over with greater skill than any torturer. He felt secrets bubble up from the depths, threatening to burst, spill from his mouth with each gasp she twisted from him.

His breathing sped up with the effort to keep them locked away, and she slowed down. Devilish girl, trailing feathered kisses along his shaft, leaving her lips’ color all along its length. Leaving her mark on him, the mission, distracting... she was distracting him?

With a snarl he pulled her to her feet, holding the majority of her weight as she teetered on three-inch heels. Her eyes were glazed, her smile soft, and a bolt of pride speared his chest when he realized she was affected too. And he hadn't even done anything. He really wanted to do something.

Take control.

So he did.

Deliberately, he brought his left hand to his mouth, grasped the base of one leather glove between his teeth, watched her pupils dilate as he pulled off first one glove, then the other. She gulped.

He swept her up and was gratified when her legs wrapped around his hips like two puzzle pieces locking home. He cupped her ass fully as her black wool skirt rode up pale thighs and chucked at her moan as his hot, exposed flesh rubbed against her silken panties. Oliver kissed her deeply, smiling against her mouth as she raked her hands through the short hair on the back of his neck, making his scalp tingle as his tongue reveled in the sweetness of her. He wanted to taste her everywhere. He peppered sharp kisses on her pert chin, her smooth cheek, her firm jaw, then settled in to savor the hidden part of her neck, behind her earlobe.

“Oh, god,” she pled and twisted her hips, seeking the sinful sensation where they rubbed together, but he held her fast, maintaining but controlling the pressure, teasing gasps with each flick of his tongue and judicious suction, ravaging her neck as her head fell backward and she arched into him.

He needed his hands, he had to caress her too. He took a step forward, angling her ass towards her desk.

“No!” she exclaimed, suddenly clear eyed and imperious.

Every muscle in Oliver locked in place as a chorus of doubt followed the echo of her cry.

“Not my babies,” she clarified with a doting smile over her shoulder to the computer set-up. “There” she indicated the workbench behind him.

But reality had intruded. “I don't keep condoms down here.”

Felicity only tugged playfully at his jacket and held up a square foil wrapper with her other hand.

Instead of evaluating the relief that washed over him, he spun so quickly that she yelped and buried her arms deep within his jacket, holding him tightly as he crossed the space in one, two, three strides. A sweep of his left arm scattered arrows, tools, lab equipment across the cement floor. He could see a joke forming on the tip of Felicity's tongue, so he trapped it there with a searing kiss as he set her on the cleared metal table. His hands, finally free, grasped the sides of her face, cradling it delicately as passion flared then transformed, so that the kiss ended with a series of open-mouthed, sipping kisses, as if she were clean water and he was drinking her down after a long drought.

All humor had fled by the time he pulled back and gazed into her eyes, the connection somehow more powerful than one at the juncture of their legs, still warmly settled together.

Then Felicity was pushing his hood, jacket, quiver over his shoulders while his hands raced up, over her knees, up her thighs, hooking around a scrap of satin. Her bikini briefs were forest green, and he swallowed hard. Oliver pulled them down, recognizing for the first time just how amazing her legs really were, but in a rush to get back between them, promising himself to take the time to appreciate them fully. Later. He whipped his black tee off and returned to her warmth. He ripped open the condom packet and rolled down the tube with practiced hands. Felicity caressed his arms, shoulders, abs, following the path her eyes had taken earlier, during his training, when she thought he hadn't noticed. Then it had amused him; now it enflamed him.

He could feel her slick heat against him, the moist lips of her slit attesting to her arousal just as her dark nails proclaimed her urgency, raking across his hip bones, then tracing needy scripts up his obliques. His pants remained due only to the clinging stretch of leather across his thighs; save for her glasses and underwear, she was completely clothed down to the heels digging into his ass. The prim line of buttons down her red sweater was such a sharp juxtaposition to the thrust of her hips that Oliver felt a smile twist his face in a way he hadn't smiled since the Gambit. Because he knew he wouldn't fuck her until she was as undone as he. Because those tiny disks had a destiny that did not involve keeping Felicity Smoak clothed.

Oliver held her gaze as he lowered his head. She looked almost curious, her eyes still dilated, her breathing still elevated. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the exposed flesh of her collarbone, sucked her small gold necklace into his mouth, tugged it with his teeth. Her chest began to rise and fall rapidly as he let the chain go with a small 'pop' and moved to the first button. By feel, with only lips and tongue, he slipped it from its mooring. Felicity gasped. He grinned wider, moving slowly down her sweater.

Next button, quicker than the first.

Third button, right across the valley of her breasts, straining to be free now. No more.

The sweater gaped, opening a growing sliver of pale skin, flushed with her blushing lust. At the fourth button, he took a moment for a second kiss, a nuzzle, then he proceeded down.

Buttons five, six, and seven were saved from frustrating only because of the noises Felicity was making now. Even with her lips pressed together, soft whimpers escaped as each button slid free.

The final button was a lost cause. He pulled too hard, she arched at the wrong time, and the 'pop' this time sent the shining, red thing flying into the night of the foundry.

Neither Oliver nor Felicity mourned its loss.

Felicity surged from the table. Oliver pushed the sleeves over her shoulders, down her arms. He would have continued his seduction with fingers, thumbs, and tongue, but Felicity was pulling, twisting and he followed her guidance like it was a survival instinct, finding himself on the table now, back against cool metal, as Felicity straddled his waist. Her hands moved behind her back, making quick work of the lacy, dark green bra. Then before he could tear his gaze away from her pert breasts, she had tugged her hair loose from its tie. She shook her head, letting her hair dance around her shoulders, and smiled down at him with a confidence that took his breath away. He could only hold onto her thighs and hope he didn't lose it any second now.

“I'm going to fuck you now, Oliver.” He could only nod.

She positioned herself above him, then leaned forward to kiss him, almost innocently before impaling herself on his length.

Damn.

He'd thought she would go slow, tease him, draw out the moment. He almost came from that single stroke. His eyes were squeezed closed. He was pretty sure he'd bruised her thighs. Damn.

He realized nothing was happening. Opening his eyes, he saw Felicity smiling down at him from a curtain of gold.

“You still with me?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he croaked. He almost blurted ‘it's been a while,’ but it was only half that and he wasn't in the mood for introspection. He shifted within her, and she gulped. He grinned, his hand inching up her thigh. “I hadn't realized you were so eager.”

She huffed a breath. “What gave you that idea?” She leaned back, allowing him greater access. When his thumb brushed her curls she began to move again, slower this time. “My runaway mouth only offers deviant acts half the times we meet.” She began to rise and fall, the undulations of her hips a thing of beauty he would want to frame if he could divorce his brain from what the motion was doing to him. He clung to the threads of conversation as he met her thrust for thrust and parted her lower lips with his thumb.

“Uh, the blow job was a big tip-off, too,” he offered, his voice low and husky even to his own ears.

She paused for an eternal second above him, then shrugged one shoulder, continuing at the same pace. “Oh that,” she admitted, “I kind of enjoy those, actually.”

“Felicity,” he choked on her name... And found her clit.

The pace grew sloppy after that. Her hands sought support on his shoulders as she bucked against him. His thumb teased, pressed, circled her nub while his left hand anchored her hips. He followed her lead. She began to keen, eyes-closed, her face a picture of focused pleasure above him.

“Come for me, Felicity,” he begged. “Come.” And he flicked her as he filled her as she rocked forward, shattering on top of him like a crashing wave.

She shuttered, murmured, began to press herself up, but he stopped her, rolling them easily, her pliant body a joy for more than his cock. He stood between her legs, still joined to her, and cupped her cheek. She opened her eyes and breathed a single, “Oh.”

He twitched within her on reflex, and her eyes flew wide, her hands scrambling for purchase on his biceps, her legs tightening around his hips. “Oh!”

“Shush,” he assured her. “No hurry.” Was it his imagination, or did she look contrite for a moment?

Oliver began to move again, long, deep strokes, enjoying the emotions flittering across Felicity's face, though he could identify only one in ten. He savored the knowledge that sharp-tongued, quick-witted Felicity Smoak's vaunted mind went to mush after an orgasm.

A few more thrusts and she was fully with him again, her hips lifting from the counter, her thighs sliding up his body. He grasped her meaning, grasped one leg and helped her sling her knee across his shoulder without breaking his pace. His next thrust had him teetering on the brink.

He was so deep in her warmth. Her smile was so sweet.

She dug a heel into his ass. He cursed. She laughed.

He sucked a nipple into his mouth. She screamed.

He captured his name on her lips.

She opened wider still. Squeezed him. Screamed again as she climaxed. Pulled him with her.

He lost. He won. He pulled them both upright.

Forehead to forehead, Oliver waited for Felicity to gain her senses. Her dopey smile called forth one of his own, but he kissed it away.

Pulled back, pulled out.

Got his head back in the game.

He used his cast-off shirt to clean up, then fastened his pants. He found a spare towel for Felicity and offered it without comment. Helped her find her clothes before pulling out a second shirt.

By the time he was combat ready, Felicity stood over their debris field, re-buttoning her sweater.

“Don't worry about cleaning up. I'll do it when I get back.”

“Back?” Felicity queried. “Back from where?”

“Ken Williams,” he began, only to have Felicity throw up her hands.

“Ken Williams?” she interrupted, incredulous. “And what about all of this?”

He was pretty sure she was referring to the mind-numbing sex and not the mess.

“Uh, yeah. We should talk about this.” Once he figured out how to put all the feelings swirling in his chest into words. “But I'm already late. I was going to hit him on the way home. Now I'll have to wait until he tucks in his son.” This last he said with a nod to her screens. She'd like that he'd been paying attention, that he'd already done his research. Right? “We'll talk later,” he soothed.

The Hood was halfway to the door before her voice split the darkness again.

“No, Oliver. We won't.” He turned, registering the dark monitors at her station. He tracked her retreating form as she clattered up the stairs to Verdant. She sighed as she reached the top, leaned over the railing to address him. “Good luck, with all of this. Really. I just can't...” Her hand circled the air as trying to sweep up the words she required. Failed to find. “Can't.”

And she was gone.

**~**

Felicity sat in her Mini Cooper on the streets behind Verdant. Blinked back moisture. Replayed the last 20 minutes of her life in high fidelity behind her eyelids. Let her forehead drop to the steering column. Groaned as it bounced, once, twice.

BEEP! “Oh, god!”

She cast her gaze about, but no one came running. It was the Glades after all. Only the Vigilante responded...

“Oh my god.”

That would be the topper on the chocolate-walnut cake of her day. Stupid nuts. Who puts nuts in cakes? She pictured Oliver emerging from the shadows in his leathers, all coiled muscles, salty skin, and piercing eyes. She'd probably blurt out her foolish feelings.

Maybe he'd take pity on her, let her down easy. Or maybe he'd kiss her again.

It was difficult, but she'd totally managed to have sex in the Mini before...

No, no, no.

“Get a grip, Felicity. So you just screwed your dreamy sorta-boss. It's cool. You're hardly the first spontaneous fuck in Oliver Queen's life.” She winced. That was cruel. “That was cruel, Felicity. Start the car, go home, crack that second pint of mint chip, and pass out on your couch like a normal girl.”

That all sounded horrible, but she couldn't think of anything better to do, so she turned the key and started backing out.

It was not like Oliver would really let her walk away from his night activities. His other night actives. He'd stop by the I.T. Department sometime tomorrow or pop up in her car again, to make certain the S.C.P.D. didn't get an anonymous tip.

Aggravating jerk. Stupid, perfect face.

How would she face him after this? She needed to start rehearsing as soon as she got home or something horrible would come out of her mouth the next time she saw him.

A car honked behind her. How long had she been sitting at this green light?

She shook her head and drove into the night.


	2. A Little More Spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a steamy encounter in the foundry, Oliver and Felicity struggle to define their relationship, and a visit to the Queen family vault only complicates matters.
> 
> Yep, bank vault smut!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read, kudo'd, commented, bookmarked, or shared chapter one. This is only my second fanfiction in many years, and my _first_ multi-chapter. All your kind praise just makes my day. I'm particularly flattered by the bookmarks and tumblr recommendations this story has garnered. I can't wait to share the last chapter with you all.
> 
> As always, hellopoe, you are fabulous, darlin'!

  
  


Oliver Queen was in her office: Surprise, surprise. His voice answered the deeper rumble of John Diggle. Of course, the fact he brought John was a surprise.

Keeping it business, Mr. Queen? No problem. She was wearing her business pumps. Also a sweater with cats, but – dammit – she deserved to be cozy after how last night ended.

He was right in front of her when she walked in. Of course.

Dark, brooding, and wearing buttons. Of course.

Unbuttoning things with his mouth was seriously impressive and sexy as hell, but she was not going to ask for a lesson. Or a repeat. Never. Because she was mad and this was business. Right.

She pursed her lips, gathered her anger, and breezed past him. “I had a bet going with myself on how quickly you two would show up.” She quipped, “Looks like I won.” Yes! That totally did not sound like something she practiced in the mirror this morning.

Pleased, she sat down and listened with detachment as Oliver approached. “Actually, Felicity, I was hoping I could get you to change your mind. I was worked up on adrenaline last night, and I –” Okay, he totally rehearsed this speech. What exactly was he going to say in front of John? “I didn't exactly put my best foot forward. I was hoping you'd give me the opportunity to do that now.”

So many openings there, really. Because if that hadn't been his best, she wouldn't survive better. But, god, he sounded sincere, and this was almost an apology. There was more at stake than her feelings or libido. So if he wanted to make amends...

“How'a'bout you start with Ken Williams?” She couldn't help adding, “did he also get to enjoy your adrenaline last night?”

Oliver cocked his head to one side, turning his face slightly from John. “No. He got to return the money he stole and head to bed. His son slept through the whole thing. Like I said, Felicity: just a warning.”

Her breath caught as he held her gaze. She nodded, a tad contrite. She really did trust him, but this new life was so strange. She trusted this powerful, famously flakey, mysterious, aggravating man _not to kill someone_. That was typically a given with people, yet never to be taken for granted with Oliver. And he was still looking at her, his intensity shifting, making her want to squirm in her seat. Felicity was extremely aware that John Diggle could see her but not Oliver.

Not fair.

The news report was a God-send. As much as reports of exploding heads could be good news. This new life was so _strange_.

This Dodger guy could really use some justice. Too bad his name's not in Oliver's notebook.

“You know, not all the people that I target are on the list,” Oliver countered. Oops, that had been out loud again. Oliver continued, “Every once and a while I make an exception. Hostage taking jewel thief, for example. So why don't you help us take him down?”

Felicity nodded. This had worked out better than she'd thought. She did want to help him. Not with the killing, because – yeesh – but he really was making a difference. And she was getting the feeling he needed someone to point that out to him.

“So, lunch?” Oliver asked casually.

John was halfway to the door and responded first, “Big Belly Burger sounds good to me.”

Right. Because planning to put on leather and take down a jewel thief wasn't something they should do in a room with so much sound equipment. Because Oliver had not asked her out to lunch on a date. Because this was business and they never had to talk about what happened last night as far as Felicity was concerned. Because Oliver let her precede him through doors ‘cause his mamma raised him right, not because they had a thing going on.

She had practically jumped on the man; he just responded in kind. Not that there was an etiquette about what they'd done. Sex, they'd had sex, Felicity. It wasn't a dirty word. You can think 'sex.' Sex, sex, sex. Okay, it was kind of a dirty word. Best not to think about sex around Oliver Queen. Like she could stop. God, he was walking behind her now. Her hips were swaying a bit more than necessary because it was like she knew he was watching. But he probably wasn't. She couldn't check. Was he?

Joanna's head popped over her cubicle in accounting. They normally grabbed lunch together in the QC cafeteria. Her jaw dropped when she saw who trailed Felicity. At least they weren't walking side-by-side. Because this was not a date. Not a date.

Felicity turned towards the parking garage elevators, and Oliver caught her arm. His fingers burned through her sweater. He dropped his hand as soon as she stopped, because of course.

“We're out front,” he indicated the row of shiny black towncars in executive parking past the lobby.

“Uh, right.” Felicity reversed direction. She slowed until he drew closer, then murmured, “We're going to need to think up an excuse for this Not Date.”

Silence stretched long enough she thought Oliver hadn't heard until – “Date?”

His voice sounded so strained that she risked a glance back as John held the door for both of them. If Oliver was a robot, he'd probably be shouting “Danger, Will Robinson!” right now.

“No!” she hissed. “Not 'date.' Not Date! As in, we are NOT on a date, but it looks like we are, because you're taking an I.T. Girl to lunch in your towncar, and you're Oliver Queen. We look like a date, but we're not. We're a Not Date,” Felicity's gestures filled the air between them, grazing Oliver's sleeve. “And now I've said 'date' about fifty times, when I'm trying to say this is a Not Date.” Over his shoulder, she could see half the security desk staring at them as she stood less than a foot from the CEO's playboy stepson. As Felicity pressed her lips firmly together, a marketing executive in killer heels cast her an envious side-eye on her way past.

“I think I may have just made appearances worse,” she whispered, daring to meet Oliver's gaze again. His pained expression eased briefly at her admission. A smile broke over his face, dangerously beautiful like a flash of summer lightning, before returning to a dour default. She almost sighed.

“I'm treating you to lunch after you built me a custom system at the club.” His eyes twinkled, lightning lurking within them. “Always go with the truth.”

“Truth, okay,” Felicity agreed. “We are not dating.” She should feel relieved; last night had been a mistake.

Oliver opened his mouth, but closed it before forming any words. He nodded once, his expression inscrutable.

~

“McKenna? Oo, the detective on the Dodger case, you have a thing for her?” Felicity grinned at Oliver, happy to be fitting into John and Oliver's banter. And McKenna Hall. Of course Oliver would be attracted to a smart woman of action with liquid eyes and amazing skin. Of course. Why was he shaking his head?

“Yes,” John asserted in Oliver's stead.

“I don't see you asking Carly out,” Oliver retorted.

John smiled sheepishly at both of them and hopped up from their booth. John was adorable like this, not intimidating at all. She really hoped Carly agreed. Felicity followed his progress, almost missing Oliver calling her name.

“About last night...” Oliver began.

Oh, no, no, no. What happened to 'just business' Oliver?

“I, that is, we...”

Oh, this was too painful. She held up her hands, “Say no more.”

Oliver blinked at her imperious statement.

“It's no secret I, um, find you attractive. I mean, look at you.” Her hands were moving too much, so she pushed them flat against the table and looked at a spot just above Oliver's forehead, the way she learned in that public speaking seminar. “But we were both worked up, with the adrenaline and the endorphins and the caffeine –”

“Caffeine?” Oliver questioned.

She nodded emphatically, really meeting his eyes for a moment. “I'm not used to staying up that late without help, so I drank about three 'Go Girl!'s before heading to the foundry. It was a mistake.”

The word 'mistake' brought back the storm clouds to Oliver's expression, so Felicity returned to the speech she'd prepared with the hope she'd never give it.

“The caffeine was a mistake,” she clarified. “The point is, hormones and pheromones and aggravation. Boom, sex!” She glanced around, realizing that last part was a bit loud, but everyone seemed distracted by the tweens at the window table.

“Pheromones?”

“From the sweat.” Felicity nodded vigorously.

“Boom?”

She almost responded, but then she caught the glint in his eyes. He was teasing her. She tilted her head with a chiding smile.

His lightning smile flashed once more. “Felicity,” he tried again. “I don't want you to get the idea –”

“I promise.” She held up her hand like she was swearing an oath on the veneer tabletop. “No 'idea' got here. It didn't mean anything to me either. I think it's great that you're into Detective Hall.”

“You do?” Oliver looked tired. Given the hours he kept, that wasn't surprising.

“Sure! You have all the ingredients for an awesome couple.” Felicity ticked them off on her fingers, warming to the idea, “Shared interest: cop and vigilante, fighting for justice. Smarts: she must be whip-smart to have her detective badge already. And you're both gorgeous.” She brought her hands together in a final demonstration. “You should get on that right away. Um, asking her out, I mean.”

Felicity grabbed her chocolate shake and took a long sip.

He weighed her words carefully while she clung to practiced nonchalance. When he drew breath to speak, Felicity was sure he’d call her out on her B.S.

“This Dodger guy,” Oliver said instead, “he's targeting a very specific kind of jewel. We find out why and that will give him the how to catch him.”

Oh, business: this she could do.

“I have an idea. Your crush object with a badge said they were working with Interpol.”

“Yeah,” he confirmed.

“Why don't I work up a little tech? You distract her with a little flirty-flirt.” He should be good at that. “Slip said tech onto her phone. It will turn into a micro-transmitter, and – boop – we'll learn everything she knows.”

“It's not how I typically get my information,” Oliver admitted.

Well, really, this was some of her best tech she was offering. “How do you 'typically' do it,” she snapped.

“I find the person, and then I put the fear of God into them until they talk.” He held her gaze calmly, unfazed by the cruelty of what he described. “But we can try your way,” he conceded.

Then he stole one of her curly fries.

~

John was right; She really had no idea how rich the Queens are. It hit her again when the bank manager handed Oliver a massive key ring with approximately a googleplex, little, silver keys and left them standing in a private vault filled with a googleplex, little, silver doors. Oliver’s ploy with Detective Hall’s phone led to mixed results, so now they were forced to lay a trap for the Dodger. Apparently the Queen family just happened to have rare, Spanish antiquities just lying around under Starling City Bank.

“If you need anything, please just press the black button.” And then the balding man bowed his head an inch and backed out.

Felicity raised her eyebrows at Oliver, who only shrugged and turned to face the north wall.

“The jewelry should be in this section. We'll find something from the Omnivore Decade big enough to hide your chip.”

“Ominous Decade,” she corrected absently, as she faced a wall larger than her closet that was apparently solid jewelry.

Oliver flashed her a smile. She felt a little giddy as they began to set tray after tray on the examination counter. He peeled back the velvet lining of the first box.

“Oh. My. God. Shut up.” She bypassed a row of diamond solitaires and an elaborate emerald necklace to hover her finger tips above an incredibly clear, cushion-cut stone set in a diamond encrusted bracelet. “Is that Musgravite?”

Oliver glanced at the light lavender gem and pulled it from its spot with a shrug, passing it to Felicity. He tugged the documents from a side sleeve. “Looks like a purple diamond to me, but...” He rustled through the papers.

Felicity highly doubted the Queens would lock up diamonds with less that more than an 'H' rating in color or clarity. She turned the piece delicately in her hand. Her suspicions were confirmed when Oliver chuckled.

“No, you're right. Musgravite: Five point two carats, cushion-cut, inscription 'For BeeBee – that was my grandmother – on our 35th,' insured for...” He looked up, his eyes a bit more alert.

“Don't tell me.” Felicity set down the bracelet like it was a live grenade.

“Wanna wear it?” Oliver was downright mischievous.

“Don't mess with me, Oliver. That gorgeous thing is worth more than my four years at M.I.T. _before_ it was iced over with diamonds. I know my worth; I'll stick to my own jewelry, thanks.” He was considering her intently, so she babbled on, “besides, Musgravite wasn't discovered until 1967. Not even in the right decade to hook the Dodger.”

“Better keep looking then,” Oliver agreed.

They spent the next ten minutes pouring over chest after chest of jewelry. They found a beautiful set of earrings, but they were too small to be used, so the search continued. She was shamefully petting a triple string of iridescent black pearls when Oliver spoke. “How about this?”

He was holding up a mammoth brooch in a floral pattern that was classic Ominous Decade. “Oh, it's perfect!” She clapped with glee, crossing to him with two bouncing steps. The large light blue stones, possibly alexandrite, shown against his palm. She flipped the rosette half of the brooch and cooed, “Oo, right here. I can place the chip in the gold matrix without blocking the light flow or disturbing the lay of this baby.”

“How long will it take?”

Felicity glanced up, realizing that she was standing dangerously close to what she now thought of as 'kissing distance.' She took the jewelry and backed up, moving towards the large satchel she'd brought with her.

“It should only take a few minutes now.”

Oliver cleared away the other trays while he waited. Then he paced, tapping his fingers on the sides of his legs while he waited. It made her think of the times he'd hung around her office at QC, waiting for her to crack a code or hack a system. He used to tap then, too, some song she couldn't place. Yet somehow she knew not to ask its name, just as she knew she could trust him despite his ridiculous excuses.

“Done!” She held up the brooch in one hand and her cell phone in the other. “I can now track this bit of bling from halfway across town.” Felicity delivered it to his grasp with a smile and gathered her tools. She was proud of herself, surrounded by amazing jewelry and she only sighed aloud once after opening a collection of six tiaras. Considering this hoard could probably summon Smaug from the Misty Mountain, that was a personal best.

“Smog?”

Out loud again, but that meant...

“You mean you don't know _The Hobbit_?” she gasped.

Oliver was nonplussed.

“Okay, they shouldn't have stretched it to a trilogy, but we are so watching the first movie the next time you're researching that damn list. Trust me, you'll have fun critiquing Legolas's archery form if nothing else.”

“Maybe,” Oliver granted, his eyes twinkling again. She felt like dancing. It made her a little brave.

“Speaking of dinner and a movie,” she began, her voice only squeaking slightly, “what did happen with you and the lovely detective?” Friends asked questions like that, right?

Oliver paused for a moment, causing her to sway closer to where he stood at the back of the vault. “We won't be catching any movies together for the foreseeable future,” he ground out.

“Oh.”

“Hey, plenty of fish in the sea,” he joked, leaning back against the rows of shimmering doors.

“I'm sorry,” she said simply.

His head snapped up, and he folded his arms. “That's it?”

“What do you mean?”

“No more questions?” he challenged.

Felicity considered her response and opted for honesty. “Of course, I have hundreds, but emotional wounds heal just like physical scars.” She gestured to his chest, to the scar tissue they both knew marbled his flesh beneath his cashmere sweater. “No point in picking at the scabs. They'll fall off in their own time.”

She turned to leave, trailing her fingers along the shining doors, saying goodbye to the beauty within. Until he snagged her hand, wrapped her fingers in his wide grip.

“You're worth more than just an M.I.T. degree, Felicity.”

“Tell that to my student loans,” she quipped.

She felt the warmth of his body, but she didn't expect him to be standing quite so close when she turned.

“Thank you for not asking,” he said.

Oliver was cupping her jaw, sliding his calloused fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face, adjusting the angle of her mouth, and yet she was still surprised when he touched his lips to hers so gently it was more caress than kiss.

“Thank you,” she sighed as he pulled back. “I mean, you're welcome. I mean...” Words were not her friends, so she stretched on her tip-toes and placed a peck on the corner of his mouth. It was supposed to be his cheek, but she missed.

He was grinning down at her, his eyes so blue and crystal clear they put all these gems to shame. It was a good thing the examination counter was only six inches wide.

“Why's that?” Oliver cocked his head.

“I really need to not blurt everything that's on my mind,” Felicity bemoaned.

“I don't know,” Oliver contemplated. “I kind of like that about you.” One of his hands was now resting casually on the wall above her shoulder as he smiled down at her.

Oh, god, he was flirting with her. Felicity wasn't sure why this was such a revelation to her after what they'd done just two nights ago, but he had been very clear that they weren't dating, there were no ideas to get about them, he was seeing other girls... but she really, really liked him.

This was what she'd realized as he'd lay on that metal table two weeks ago, bleeding out from his mother’s gunshot wound: she liked this man. Not just the flighty prep-school dropout who spilled lattes on laptops, or the dangerous, driven vigilante who said 'latte' when he meant bullets and intimidated the curly fries out of her, but the man he was underneath both masks, the one who was smiling down at her now.

Well, now his smile was dimming a bit. The silence was growing louder, if that was even possible.

“Felicity?” How did he manage to imbue so many different meanings into a name she'd known her whole life? This time it sounded... wicked. She didn't want to respond.

But she did. “Yes?”

He caught the tip of her collar between his thumb and forefinger and sort of _rolled it_. It should not have made her toes curl. Not fair.

Those blue eyes watched her face from behind sandy lashes.

“What did you mean about the counter?”

“Oh, god.” Her focus flickered to the narrow shelf along one wall of the vault, engineered to hold crates with bearer bonds, gold bars, and more jewelry than twenty Queens could wear, but not two bodies intent on energetic coupling. Sure, there was the rolling cart over by the door, but – No.

His finger slid off her collar and onto her neck, tracing the margin of pink shirt-meets-skin, until he hit the top button with his thumb. Dammit, she wore a pull-over on top of the button-down to stop ideas just like this from entering Oliver's mind. “Felicity?”

“Look, some sexual positions can be fun,” she warned. He stopped stroking the damn button. “But Robert Frost's gravestone was enough to turn me off narrow ledges.” He huffed a breath, his face losing its practiced charm in a flash of... He looked... “What?” she demanded.

“You're amazing.”

Warmth blossomed in Felicity's chest, filling her like the sun until she was beaming up at him. He was just so... nice. Was it any wonder that she l- er, _liked_ him.

Which made this so complicated. Sure, she'd done the no strings fling thing in college. She liked sex. Like, really, really liked it. And Oliver, he didn't just rely on his fucking glorious body. The man had technique. All those times she'd fantasized about joining the ranks of Oliver Queen's conquests hadn't held a candle to the reality. She could almost convince herself it was worth ignoring the very present strings forming between them, that a few more times could still technically be counted as a single 'fling,' that their thing could stay just a _thing_ without breaking her heart. Almost.

Then beads dropped from above, obscuring Oliver's grin. Pearls: her pearls, the ones she'd been admiring earlier, three strings of perfectly matched black baubles swayed in the climate controlled air, rainbows dancing across each curve.

“Oliver, what?” she sputtered. She caught the shining strands as he dropped them into her palm.

“I thought you could use something to wear to the auction tonight.” He was so pleased with himself. “I know it's not your usual scene, and –”

“And you think I won't fit in?” Felicity saw red, literal red-orange flares, around the edge of her vision. “The charity is supposed to be for cancer research, Oliver. Not girls you feel sorry for!” She was using her loud voice, backing him into the corner of the vault. “I'm not your date, Oliver.” Her voice cracked over his name. She wanted to scream, cry, throw the necklace at his perfect chest.

She was losing it.

But he was literally _dangling_ every little dream in front of her, and it was all ephemeral floss because he couldn't be feeling half of what she was.

She grabbed his big, warm, calloused hand and pressed the pearls into his palm. Glared at him, chanting how-dare-you, how-dare-you, I-almost-believed-it, how-dare-you, and knowing his distorted expression likely meant it was all lost at him because her eyes were rapidly filling with tears.

She should have stormed out then and left with some dignity.

But she stood there too long, still holding his hand, and his reflexes were godlike. He reversed their hands, tugged her close, claimed the back of her neck with his other hand. In the time it took the necklace to fall, twisting, one strand snapping, scattering inky baubles across the polished cement floor, Oliver had her flush against his form, stretched to her toes, his mouth pushing all her arguments back into her head.

He tasted better than she remembered, like coffee, and rain, and electric joy. She let it consume her, leaning into him. When the kiss ended, she dropped her head, felt his lips on her hairline, his thumbs tracing her jaw, fingers in her hair. He was messing her up: hair mussed, work-days rescheduled, nights claimed.

“Felicity, the other night... What I wanted to say...” Oliver fumbled for words above her head, so she lifted her gaze to his beautiful eyes. “It was amazing. You amaze me. I'd like to...”

“You'd like to...” She flared her fingers, where her hands rested on his wide chest, so that they created a fanning crown for his pectorals. She took a leap. “... do it again?”

His exhale was so pronounced that her whole body rose and fell with his breath. “Among other things,” he chuckled.

His fingers whispered down her neck, brushing aside her collar, capturing her hands and tugged them back, behind her back. He leaned into her, pressing one strong thigh between her legs until all her weight was distributed between his warm embrace and a single foot. He didn't strain at all. He savored her lips, her neck, the chilled skin of her chest, leaving a trail of fire from stubble, mouth, and her responding blush. She leaned back further, trusting him to hold her, snaking her free leg up his calf, pushing and rubbing her center against his thigh. Fuck, she was ready for him already.

Oliver shifted his grip, holding her arms in only one large hand, so that the second could climb up her back teasing curls at her nape, supporting her on his forearm so that she dipped deeper still. She squirmed as his mouth circled back towards her ear, and Felicity felt the length of him against her thigh, hot and insistent.

“I want this,” he hissed. “I want you.” His voice deepened. “I've been dreaming about you.” He sipped her stuttering moan and returned to whisper, “I want to make you come. I want to hear my name from your lips. I want to see your eyes dilate and know the color of your nipples. I want to know what you taste like. Everywhere. I want you so fucking much, Felicity.”

This was so worth it.

“Oliver.” His name was her answer, pledge, and promise.

Her hands were free as Oliver crushed her to him, spinning them to press her against the smooth back wall of the vault. She raked one hand through his soft, short hair, nipped his bottom lip and soothed the hurt, cupped his ass, finally. God, it was amazing. He groaned as she pulled him to her.

He fisted the hem of her sweater, waited for her quick nod, and tugged it cleanly up her torso and over her head. Her hands fell back, giving him just enough room between them to go to work on her buttons. This time he used his agile fingers, and she felt his anticipation in the quickening breath against her mouth. As he peeled back her shirt front, she watched his face, amazed at the obvious wonder that settled over his features at the sight of her simple black lace bra and pale skin. Then he licked his upper lip.

Oh, god. Oh, god.

He saw her watching him, and his lips stretched wide. His eyes glinted. His eyebrow ticked upward as if to challenge, 'in or out, Smoak.'

Her mouth went dry.

She'd been expecting a quick fuck against the wall, maybe with a follow-up stop at her apartment. Oliver in her bed was fast becoming an obsession for her. As his hands moved sinfully slow to the side zipper of her little black skirt, she realized she had vastly underestimated Oliver.

Felicity's skirt clung to her legs from the curve of one hip and the slight adhesion of perspiration. Oliver helped, one hand curving around her ass, sliding around her upper thigh, twisting his thumb just centimeters off where she wanted him, sliding back 'round again: forming a figure-eight of desire along the swell of her hip that almost distracted from what the rest of him was doing.

As she pressed her shoulders back onto the cool wall, Oliver began a campaign of kisses along her collarbone, pausing only to swirl his tongue in the hollow of her throat. His fingers followed his lips, the rearguard conquering any straggling nerve cells, demanding complete surrender. He puffed warming air along the top of her breasts, following with lips and tongue, toying with the rigid lace points of her bra. Her nipples, already tight, were easy prey to Oliver's assault of caressing palm and hot mouth. He sucked them through the lace, and she moaned his name. He smiled up at her and continued, slipping a hand into a cup. He slid the material down, over her darkened areola, laving it with his tongue, tasting her as he had promised.

“Oh, god, Oliver,” Felicity pled, unable to add a specific request. Her feet began to slide as her knees grew weak, and Oliver's hand stilled on her hip, anchoring her to the wall, his thumb continuing its lazy circles on her thigh but still too far off center.

Both breasts freed and triumphed, Oliver's war of sin marched south, claiming her ribcage, sweeping her abdomen, even staking out her bellybutton for a brief battle until she giggled helplessly and he smiled against her soft skin. When he reached her skirt, Felicity tensed again, wanting to push against the wall, stand, command her hands to do anything but enjoy their lazy ride down on Oliver's shoulders. Then he took the fabric in his teeth and tugged. Felicity's jaw fell slack as Oliver pulled her skirt the last few inches with his teeth and let it drop around her ankles. With a subtle pressure on her calves, he guided her to step through the hoop of material and cast it aside.

There Felicity stood against the rear wall of the Queen family vault, bare save her black pumps, a scrap of lace that was more shelf than bra, and her favorite red thong.

Okay, so a part of her had been hoping something like this might happen, and, fortunately, that part had been picking out her underwear. Oliver seemed to approve as he smiled up at her on his knees.

Oliver Queen was kneeling in front of her.

And he was about to...

“Stop,” she commanded, planting her high heel on the rock of his pectoral muscles, pushing him back on his heels. Her other leg shook, supporting her full weight while weak with desire, but the desperation on Oliver's face gave her strength. “Take it off,” Felicity croaked, swallowed, wet her lips to try again. “Your shirt. I want to see you, too.” She was blushing but continued to meet his gaze.

Oliver relaxed back and caught the arch of her shoe between his palm and thumb. He began to lift it into the air, sliding closer to her body. When she wobbled, he steadied her with a hot hand on her hip and unsettled her more with a wicked kiss to her inner thigh. He guided her foot back to the ground and hooked the edge of the sweater and tee at his waist. Felicity let her eyelids fall to half-mast as he revealed the glory of his hipbones, abs, lats, and those fantastic pectorals. His arms alone were reason to believe there was a god. It was the first time she really let herself _look_ at him shirtless without his life in the balance, or professionalism in question, or the raw need of two nights ago. God, even his muscles had muscles! Yet he managed not to be over done. Each cut, line, curve served deadly purpose and intent. As far as Felicity was concerned, he didn't need a bow and arrow to slay. Right now, he was intent on her, and she could die happy.

He watched her watching him as his wicked smile stretched wider. His left pec twitched slightly under the star tattoo and she moaned, squeezing her thighs together in an attempt to ease the ache at her core. Her slack hand was driven to action, dancing over her midriff. At the narrowing of Oliver's eyes and the sudden stillness of his form, she grinned, too. His gaze was rapt, focused on her pink nails, skimming over smooth, white skin, so she detoured upward, caressing the valley of her breasts, circling her nipple, arching out into her own touch. She observed his reaction, as her second hand joined the play, showing him how she liked to be touched, how she touched herself when she thought of him. His muscles quivered, tense and ready, like a jungle cat about to pounce. But not yet, so Felicity let one hand fall down the span of her belly, gliding over the lace of her thong, tracing the dark red string where it rode the curve of her hipbone.

He made a sound that was possibly her name but had more in common with a lion's purr.

“Hum?” she questioned, dancing the back of her fingers along the sensitive skin where thigh met thong.

“Felicity!” he demanded more forcefully, rising to his knees but respecting her unspoken rules.

“Like this?” she teased, finally cupping her mound, pressing in with her fingers, shaping the dampening fabric to her body.

“God, yes.” Oliver was on point, beginning to rub his straining cock through his slacks.

“Oh, but I like this better...” she withdrew, only to slip down the front of her thong, parting herself. She was so ready. She skirted her clit, tracing the slick folds, watching his eyes darken with each stroke. The scrap of lace blocked the play of her fingers, yet he missed nothing. “I want you here,” she confessed. “Filling me up.” She slid in one, two fingers, gasping.

Oliver's face moved closer to her busy hand, his mouth somewhat slack.

Then she felt his hands on the top of her feet. He cuffed her ankles, spread them wide, stopping just short of discomfort.

“Tell me what else you want, Felicity.” He addressed her thong, and she didn't care as his hot caress moved up her legs, worshiping her calves.

“I want you to taste me,” she blurted, past thought. His tongue flickered in response, wetting his lower lip. Daring, she pulled her hand from her panties, holding out her passion-soaked fingers. With no hesitation, he sucked both digits into his mouth. They groaned together. His hands on the back of her knees were the only reasons she kept standing.

His eyes flicked up, meeting her own as he swirled his tongue around her fingers, tasting every last drop. He looked hungry still.

“Oliver,” she pled, dropping both hands to his mountainous shoulders. When had control shifted back to him? Or had this always been his game? Did she even fucking care now that his thumbs stroked her thighs, his fingers stretching towards the thong cord at her hips.

Then he buried his face into her middle, nuzzling against her throbbing core, releasing a whimper of desire that attested to his lack of control, too. If they both surrendered, who won? 

Oliver pulled the thong down both legs, navigating both legs, feet, and heels, but she didn't care how because – Oh, god – his mouth was on her finally. Firm and direct, he stroked her, licked her, sucked her. Any worry for hair maintenance or, god, any thought was gone. There was only his mouth, her clit, his tongue, her slit, his fingers, her pleasure building, grinding, glowing, expanding.

She grabbed his head, twisted him slightly, guiding his pressure and he growled his approval. The growl vibrated within her and she moaned, stuck on the first syllable of his name as she thrust helplessly, mindlessly into his face. Oliver ate her out even more fiercely, grabbing one leg and throwing it over his perfect shoulder, molding her ass with one hand while the fingers of the other stroked in and out with a maddening regularity and his tongue traced love letters on her flesh.

She closed her eyes, immune to all input save Oliver's touch. Sounds, sight, smell, fell away. She may have cursed, she may have blushed, a sheen of sweat may have covered her, but she processed none of it. The universe collapsed to him, collapsed to his tongue, to a bundle of nerves, a singularity of sensation. Then the nova burst, sound, sight, smell rushing in, the universe reborn. Stars flashed across her eyelid like the birth of a galaxy. God.

Oliver eased them both to the floor while her mind was lost in the stars. She returned to her senses wrapped in his arms and sitting across his lap, gazing up at his stupid face.

“You are really good at that.” She didn't know why that surprised her.

“I had inspiration.” Oliver was smiling down at her, and she wondered what else she might have said, because his smile was so stupid big. “I'm not telling,” he replied to her outburst.

She stuck her tongue out. Then she couldn't believe she'd stuck her tongue out. But Oliver must have thought it was cute because he followed it back in, kissing her sweetly, deeply, and she forgot why she'd been mad because she felt so damn good.

Felicity snaked her arms behind Oliver's head and took stock of their position. Her glasses were gone, removed at some point, so the world was a tad fuzzy, but a few things were clear. “Too many clothes,” she diagnosed, wriggling her ass against his slacks.

Oliver agreed, shifting her to the floor and moving to his knees again as he tugged at his belt, tore at his zipper. Felicity was no help, because his abs were _right there_ , and she had to kiss them, lick them, make certain they weren't figments of the imagination. She had a good imagination, but this was insane. His laughter made the muscles ripple as she savored the earthy taste of him. In one sweeping motion, Oliver removed both pants and boxers, and he was _very happy_ to see her, so she naturally opened her mouth to him, loving the size of him as she slid him in and out and dragged her fingers up powerful thighs and down amazing abs.

“Oh, god, I'm going to... I don't... Felicity, fuck god, Felicity!” Oliver pulled her off of him, and she pouted.

Then she saw just how desperate he looked, and she grew serious. He held up a shiny square wrapper, and she made quick work of sheathing him. A soft push threw him down on the floor, and she climbed after, throwing her legs around his torso, seeking balance from his shoulder and thighs. Oliver caught on quickly, wrapping his arms around her, bringing his legs under her, so that she could guide him home.

Their combined sigh of satisfaction filled the small room as their foreheads touched. They both looked down at their joining. Felicity shifted, experimenting with the connection. Not as deep as last time, but he was hitting some very nice spots. Very nice. She tightened her legs around him, tightened her inner muscles around his cock, and began to move, slow, a perfect torture of pleasure. Oliver's hands cascaded down her undulating spine, fanning over the small of her back, cupping her ass, learning her rhythm.

Sigh answered moan answered whispered prayer. They all sounded like her name from his lips.

She closed her eyes, let her head fall back as she rocked. Her ponytail slapped her shoulder blades. His lips met her neck, sucked, brushed need on her flesh. He inclined back, shifting the angle and still meeting her thrusts, and it was was so fucking good. His hand had found her clit, flicking with each thrust. Her head dropped forward, eyes fell open, and he was right there. Eyes on the same level, an electric ring of blue around a dark sea. Her pupils must be blown too, because he climbed inside her skull, mating gazes as they fucked below.

A little harder, a little faster, who fucking cared when he looked at her like that.

Like she was everything. Like he wanted to merge everywhere, everything, forever.

And it was fucking scary. And she wanted it. That was fucking scary, too.

His bucking grew frantic, her nails sinking into his shoulders, his body defying gravity and meeting every need.

If he made her come again, she would be gone, lost to his eyes, and his hands, and his need. So she willed herself some control, tilted her hips, squeezed his cock, watched his eyes roll back. His abs clenched, and he came.

His cry stroked her vanity, but she had discounted his clever fingers stroking elsewhere.

Even in the throws of his orgasm, he plucked her like a taut bowstring one final time, and she was shuddering. His name answered hers.

Felicity fell to his shoulder, nibbled a small scar beneath his ear, hugged him to calm his breathing. She found herself humming in approval as he held her, her breasts warmed by his skin. He traced sweet patterns along her cooling back.

He was still inside her when she finally pulled back and dared to meet his eyes. They looked lighter than before. Which was scientifically impossible, but “You can't argue with empirical evidence.”

“What?” He looked dazed.

“Never mind.”

His arms lingered around her waist as he dropped a kiss to her bare shoulder.

Felicity really wanted to snuggle. She was a snuggler. However, she would not have expected it from Oliver Queen. Not from whatever this thing between them was. She started listing reasons to move: the uncomfortable pearl bead she now felt trapped under her left heel, the time it would take her to get ready for tonight, the chill air of the vault, the whir of her brain struggling to compute just what she meant to him. It gave her the strength to muster one word. “So...”

“Oh, right.” Oliver's head jerked. He helped her dismount.

His eyes focusing on their cast-off clothing. “Want to get some lunch?” He sounded super unsure as he released her and helped sort through his and hers.

“Oliver, it's three –” She checked her cell while shimmying into her skirt. “– three thirty in the afternoon.”

“Coffee then?” Was that a squeak? Oliver's voice was definitely strained.

Here comes the awkward, Smoak. Give him an easy out.

“No, that's fine.” She focused on her shirt buttons, not meeting his gaze as he pulled on his sweater. “We'll see each other at the gala.”

He held out her glasses, and she realized he'd saved them from the floor, tucked them safe on the counter. The angles of his face snapped into clarity, but his emotions remained indecipherable.

“For the, you know, job.” She was dangerously close to babble territory. Shoe, shoe, where was her other shoe.

Oliver stepped close, bent down, and pulled the shoe from behind her bag. She held it with its match against her chest and firmly commanded herself to wait for him to speak.

His hands slid into his pockets. “At least let me take you home.”

“On your motorcycle?” Now she was squeaking.

He smirked. “You'd be perfectly safe.”

“Thanks, but no!” She stepped backwards towards the door, while he stalked after her. “That is something that will not be happening, ever, ever, ever. Also, I'm not dressed for it.” She pinched her short skirt. He seemed amused, but this was not a time she wanted to make him laugh. Her back hit the door, and she fumbled for the door handle. Which wasn't there. “Where the hell is the handle?” She turned and clawed with futility where the handle should be.

Oh, god, this was all a dream after all.

“Safety measure,” he breathed into her ear while hitting the black button. “They'll be here in a minute.”

“Well that's just stupid.” Felicity glared at the button. “I could hack that in twenty seconds if I had a wire stripper,” she informed him.

“Mm-hum.” It sounded close enough to agreement that she chose to let him off the hook. At least he wasn't smirking now. The smile had softened, doing terrible things to her heartbeat. These flutterings _had_ to be bad news.

“Well, see you tonight,” she offered.

Then she went to hug him, and he tried to kiss her, and she ended up head-butting his nose right as the vault door popped open.

His soft 'fuck' summed things up nicely.

Felicity's hands were tented around her own nose: half in sympathy, half in prayer. She apologized under the impassive eyes of the waiting clerk.

“Felicity...”

And she was so _not_ having this conversation in front of a third party.

“We can talk after the gala, Mr. Queen.” His head quirked dangerously to the left at the use of his surname, but she continued. “I really have to be... elsewhere... now.” God, she sucked at this.

With her dignity in shreds, she spun on her heels and walked away.

If it was important to him, he'd follow. 

He didn't.

She was so wearing the gold dress tonight.

~

“The car is ready, Mr. Queen.” Diggle waited with stately respect as Oliver dropped a kiss on his mother's cheek before leaving the house. “Gala security has been apprised of the threat,” he added sotto voce as Oliver breezed passed him.

“Working in tight pairs?” They didn't want a repeat of the Sherwood ruby incident.

Diggle held open the car door with a nod. “And video monitoring the exits.”

Oliver settled into the back as Diggle climbed behind the wheel. “Have you heard from Felicity?” He twitched then, surprised by his own blurted question.

Diggle met his gaze through the rear-view mirror, quirking a brow. “Didn't you see her last? At the bank?”

Visions of soft, pale skin and laughing eyes flashed through his head. “Yes, I did.” He cleared his suddenly dry throat and straightened a cuff.

“And how was she then?”

Standing over him, moaning his name as he filled her with his tongue.

“Fine, she was fine.” Glorious, she'd been glorious. Oliver rubbed his thumb and forefinger together and felt the rest of his body still.

Diggle kept checking him in the rearview as he pulled onto the main road. “Any trouble finding the bait?” He sounded concerned.

“No, the brooch was perfect.” It was the color of her eyes. “Felicity connected her chip in minutes.” And then we spent another half an hour in the vault. He met Dig's gaze calmly, then returned to watching trees and lights flash past his window.

He didn't tell Felicity about the other Ominous pieces in that box, didn't explain why he picked the one with the pale blue stones. He hadn't said a lot of things. He wasn't sure she wanted to hear them.

“So you two worked out your differences?” Diggle pressed.

“What differences?”

“Come on, man, I saw the mess in the foundry that night.” Fuck, he'd hoped that he'd cleaned it up in time. “I've been waiting for you to say something,” Diggle continued.

“She came ‘round to my way in the end.” Her face in that dreamy after-state floated before him.

“That why we had to stop by Queen Consolidated with a mea culpa the next morning?” Diggle was sardonic.

“Just making sure she didn’t have a change of heart,” Oliver retorted. “And I never apologized,” he stated a little too firmly.

“Things still seemed tense at Big Belly Burger.”

Oliver winced. “She doesn't understand that the killing is necessary at times.”

“I get that, Oliver. Sometimes,” the bodyguard's eyes flicked quickly to the mirror before returning to the road, “she may be right.”

Before Oliver could respond, Diggle held up his hand, “I know, man, I know. I made my peace with what we're doing when I signed on.” They passed the main exit to the Glades, and he nodded pointedly. “It's a war out there, and the other side is willing to kill.”

Silence reigned until Oliver filled it, “But...?”

Dig chuckled. “But,” he agreed, “since then, I've seen you fight, heard your plans. You're good. Better than any of the guys I served with.”

Oliver shifted in his seat, unsure what to do with the emotions Dig's praise inspired. He smiled hesitantly.

“Now, I'm not saying, if it's a question between innocent lives and one street dealer or greedy suit... But.” He laughed again. “Maybe Felicity has more to contribute to the team than her technical expertise,” he conceded.

Now that was surprising. Not Diggle liking Felicity: how could you not like Felicity? But he'd expected that it would take a few more missions before Diggle really took her on board.

“We'll see how she plays out in the field,” Oliver offered.

And not because he was already looking forward to seeing her. He fisted his hand.

“So...” Diggle paused, exiting the freeway. “What _did_ happen down there? That was a lot of broken equipment.”

“I lost my temper.” Along with his control the second she kissed him... “It won't happen again.” Once they talked, figured out what was going on between them.

Diggle stopped at a red light and swiveled in his seat. “I know you said we'd protect her, but I need to know if that means from you, too, Oliver.”

“It's not a problem.”

Diggle knew him too well, didn't back off from his icy stare, even as the light changed and horns started honking.

“Agreed,” Oliver ground out. “Felicity has nothing to fear from me.”

Diggle drove on, merging into the heavier traffic of downtown, his full focus needed for the road.

Oliver made use of Diggle’s distraction to reach into his breast pocket and pull out a small item. He still wasn't sure why he'd kept it. When he was cleaning up the debris from their first... encounter, he'd found it beneath her desk. Now he held it between his fingers, the street lights reflecting off the small, round disk so that it glowed red against the night. He smoothed his thumb over Felicity’s button once, before returning it to his jacket, smoothing his lapel, struggling to get his head back in the game.

Felicity had nothing to fear from him, but he might not be able to say the same for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. A Little More Action, Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The glitter of the Starling City Cancer Society annual gala can't outshine the passion burning between Oliver and Felicity. With lives on the line, the two must work with Diggle to take down the deadly jewel thief. In the midst of the action, will they find time to reach an understanding about the changes in their relationship?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to afrocurl and pigy190 for looking over this chapter and afrocurl again for advice on the ending.
> 
> I'm so flattered by the feedback from chapter 2! It has been great to get my fanfic juices flowing again with a couple that I love. I hope you enjoy the conclusion of this story and can't wait to hear what you think!

  
  


Polite chatter mingled with tepid piano notes in the hotel ballroom. The sparkle of five crystal chandeliers were mirrored the gleam of the elite crowd milling the room. It was all as dull as any charity gala he'd ever been forced to attend, except one member of the crowd might be wearing a bomb.

Oliver stood over the doctored brooch and mapped the steps to the three exit points in his head. Once more, he verified sight-lines and the placement of the security personnel, dressed as wait-staff. Coverage was good. He began his first circuit through the dining tables.

Everything was going according to plan, yet Oliver still felt off. The icy resolve which typically descended during a mission was room-temp at best. It was not that he wasn't used to waiting for the other shoe to drop – though usually he was the shoe – instead there was a voice, quiet but insistent, whispering that there was a loose variable. Yet, no matter how often he ran through his mental check-list, he couldn't identify it.

He met Diggle at the main entrance with a brief nod.

“The police are here, too,” his partner reported. “Your bait's attracted them at least.” It should aid in apprehending the thief, but Oliver still winced at the prospect of seeing McKenna Hall again. He could only imagine the questions she'd have for him. This wasn't really his scene now or then, not unless his mother had taken him in tow.

“It's not exactly who I'm looking to catch.”

Thinking back to the days Ollie Queen would have rounded up a girl or three to play Truth or Dare in the cloak room, he wasn't surprised when his gaze caught on a particularly nice set of legs descending the staircase in front of him. Long and lush, they were well displayed by a short gold skirt with a flirty little slit over the left thigh, begging for a man's hand. A nostalgic smile played over his lips as he panned up over sequined curves to... hands busy on a smartphone with fingernails painted black? And just as he was processing that discrepancy, he reached the woman's face; it was Felicity, without glasses or ponytail, golden curls gilding her shoulders.

Oliver wasn't sure what he'd expected of Felicity in formal wear: perhaps a tight bun and a simple black dress. His dreams – the nice ones – these past two nights had been a torment of half sexy librarian, half girl-next-door. Instead, she surprised him again, outshining the glitter around her as she looked up from her cell's display with a smile for Dig and an extra nod for him.

He hadn't expected to see her without her glasses so soon. Her blue eyes twinkled as if delighted by his reaction though he could swear his face hadn't betrayed any of his thoughts. Her voice was a bit husky as she said, “I'm getting a good signal from the GPS I put in your family's brooch.” Felicity and Diggle fell easily into step with him as they crossed into the reception hall. “I can track it on my phone,” she assured them.

Oliver appreciated Felicity's ability to focus on the mission. A portion of his own concentration was currently devoted to not placing a guiding hand on her elbow or the small of her back.

“Speaking of,” she continued, “have you given any thought to what might happen if this doesn't work and the Dodger absconds with your family jewels?”

Oliver stopped walking and simply stared at Felicity. After her embarrassment at the bank, he was amazed that she was going there in front of Diggle. He grimaced, not wanting to get into this now, only to watch her face blush three different shades of pink.

“Sorry!” Felicity exclaimed, darting her gaze to Diggle and back to him. “That came out very wrong.”

He vowed then and there to tease her about this for years to come. He pressed his lips together to stop a laugh. “Let's just keep our eyes open, Felicity.”

She left with a smile. Diggle seemed amused by her outburst, apparently not picking up on the undercurrents. Oliver felt his calm operational resolve finally settle over him and breathed a sigh of relief.

Then he saw the back of Felicity's dress and he nearly choked on his tongue. Miles of creamy skin lay open to the world. Two scraps of filmy, topaz fabric floated like tiny wings across her back, while the trail of her spine from neck to ass was bared. The dress was a piece of art. He hated it.

“Hey, isn't that...” Dig gestured to the right of Felicity. McKenna stood wrapped up in rich, purple sequins and, her own investigation, speaking into her earpiece.

“Mm-hum,” Oliver confirmed, his gaze drifting back to where Felicity had disappeared into the crowd. “I would rather take my chances with a deadly jewel thief.” He tilted his head to indicate his first patrol route, and moved off after Felicity.

Behind him, he heard Dig's quiet, “Right.”

**~**

After the third stockholder approached him to glad-hand the representative Queen, Oliver kept to the outskirts of the party. He found an ideal spot behind the display poster for a romantic Oriental cruise, just ten feet from where Felicity happened to be swaying to the music in her strappy heels. It made operational sense to keep her in sight. After all, if the Dodger got the drop on them, Felicity would be the first to know considering how often she referred to her tracking program. She rarely looked up from the device. She had no idea he was there, and he enjoyed the chance to observe her so relaxed, without the tension that sometimes ran through her when they were together.

Felicity happily snagged a champagne flute from a passing tray. He admired the movement of her pale throat as she sipped the bubbling liquid. He recalled the taste of that skin and swallowed hard. His throat was a bit parched, now that he thought about it, pulling his gaze from the curve of her ass in that damn golden dress and returning to monitoring the flow of the crowd at large.

“I think we've got this angle covered.”

He didn't jump, but he did curse inwardly as Diggle moved to his side and nodded at Felicity.

“I'm just watching her back,” Oliver insisted.

Diggle snorted. “I can see that.”

He turned to glare at his comrade. Diggle cocked an eyebrow, unimpressed with his stare.

“Hey, I don't blame you, man. A pretty girl who knows both sides of you? Hard to resist. I'm surprised I didn't put it together before now.” Oliver's hands twisted into futile fists, unable to refute Diggle's claims. Dig continued, “Ah, see what I mean? Hard to resist.” He nodded towards a dark-haired man in a well-tailored suit approaching Felicity.

Oliver heard himself grumble and felt Dig's restraining arm before he realized he'd moved forward. He was forced to watch the man offer Felicity a full glass of champagne. He only relaxed when Felicity shook her head, holding up her own flute in response.

“At least she's a big step up from Helena Bertinelli,”

“Dig...” Oliver growled.

“No wonder things didn't work out with McKenna,” he continued, unrepentant.

“You don't know what you're talking about.”

“Actually I do. It's difficult to give one relationship a fair shot when there's another person in the mix.” Dig sounded wistful.

Oliver knew Dig was thinking about Carly and his brother, and he felt for him, but that was totally different than his situation with McKenna. He honestly had no idea what to think about himself and Felicity. When they were alone, when he was kissing Felicity, he honestly didn't do much thinking at all. She seemed to enjoy herself, even initiate the contact, but then she acted so aggravated afterward. She stressed that they weren’t dating, teased him about McKenna, then kissed him again. All he knew was they needed to talk as soon as the Dodger was put away. She was one of the few people he knew he could trust implicitly, and –

“Heads up. Looks like you've been spotted, Oliver,” Diggle warned.

He looked past Felicity's smiling face – this other guy's nose was too damn straight, and Oliver would love to help fix it; he was a helpful guy – and saw McKenna striding purposefully across the crowd.

“You'll...?” He indicated Felicity.

“I've got her, man.” Diggle assured him that Felicity was safe, and he began to intercept McKenna.

His heart rate picked up when Felicity's eyes lit up over the jerk's shoulder as she spotted him. Oliver gave her only a brief nod as he moved passed, ignoring the questioning crease between her brows, smiling broadly at McKenna instead.

“Surprised to see you here, Oliver.” McKenna waved her clutch purse like a weapon. She certainly wouldn't have room to carry a gun in the curve hugging gown, he determined after a brief survey.

“Just doing my duty by my mother.” His smile infused a degree of honesty into his voice. “She's a long time contributor to this cause. I got to play family envoy.”

“Didn't you used to hate that?” Her tone was suspicious, and he had to admire her persistence. Still, it was important that McKenna not make connections between him and her case.

“Would you believe that I'm growing as a person?” He tilted his head, stepping a bit closer to her so that she'd feel the heat of his body.

She wasn't immune, her eyes warming even as she smirked. “The sad thing is, I sort of do believe that.”

“Excellent,” he grabbed two flutes from a waiter, saluting her with one. When she accepted the glass but didn't drink, he had his opening. “Of course, I get the feeling you're not exactly here of your own choice either.”

“Police business,” she agreed, placing her champagne on the nearby table. “Not that my private nights are much fun either.” She was obviously still upset, but willing to be convinced.

He captured both her hand and gaze, letting the contact substitute for the feelings he couldn't manufacture. “McKenna, please realize that I didn't just lose five years on the island. I lost the part of me that enjoyed being alive,” he gestured at the movement around them, “listening to music, and eating a souffle with a beautiful girl.” Her eyes went wide, staring up at him, and he cursed himself for taking this path. His emotions seemed raw tonight, and he couldn't stem the tide of his next words. “When you asked me about the island, it reminded me about all the hard things and the hard choices I had to make that still stay with me.” He knew now these weren't self-deprecating lies he spun to gain McKenna's trust. Oliver was explaining to himself as much to her. “It made me question who I can trust and even if I'm worthy of being with anyone.”

It was then that he realized he was focusing on the movement behind McKenna's shoulder, on the woman in gold, out of earshot but riveted to the intimate tableau he and the detective presented. McKenna was looking at him with understanding as she cupped his cheek. If they hadn't been in a crowded ballroom, she may have expected a kiss. Instead, she grinned up at him. “You are. You are worthy of love, Oliver.”

He felt like shit, watching one woman gaze at him with unearned trust and the other whirl on her heels and stalk away. Beyond her, Diggle frowned at him before following Felicity.

Oliver gave McKenna a small smile, agreeing to grab coffee sometime, then said his goodbyes.

He hoped the Dodger showed up soon. He really wanted to hit someone.

**~**

Oliver fell to hiding within the herd, nursing a glass of scotch as camouflage, letting three country club girls tease him for details about Verdant. It was easy enough to steer the conversation with a few questions about which music or drinks they preferred. They chattered excitedly to each other, allowing him to survey the room in relative anonymity while building up the mythos of Oliver Queen.

The brunette in a green gown accidentally-on-purpose stumbled into him with a giggle, pleading too much bubbly. It was a classic ploy, but it distracted him for precious seconds. If he wasn't so aware of the blonde across the room, he might have missed it. Felicity moved determinedly towards the now-empty brooch display. Oliver spotted the thief at the same time as Felicity, but she was closer to the retreating figure. She honestly looked ready to confront this man by herself armed with nothing but wifi and sequins.

He wasn't sure what excuse he made to the gaggle of girls as he shot through the crowd. His heart calmed when John grabbed Felicity, halting her pursuit. Felicity's eyes met his across three tables with a confused mix of emotions. Oliver rejected his impulse to go to her and slowed his approach to the posh man with curly dark hair who was calmly strolling to the exit.

This man was no patsy or stand-in: it had to be the the Dodger himself. The bait had worked even better than they'd hoped, not giving the Dodger enough time to concoct a master plan while enticing him with a prize too sweet to ignore. Oliver intercepted him midway to the exit, stumbling and splashing his scotch across the thief's finely-made suit.

“Oh hey, man! My bad!” Oliver outwardly fretted, patting him down with a handkerchief, as he determined the brooch was now in the man's left breast pocket. “Let me make it up to you,” he slurred, gesturing to the bar near the cloak room door. Once they were alone, it would be quick work to take this man down.

“I think not, mate.” The dandy caught Oliver's hand in a control hold, bending his fingers back. It would look like a firm handshake to the casual party-goers.

The Hood could have broke loose in a second and cut off the man's air with a throat punch in two more, but Oliver Queen only looked dazed as he shifted his weight, evaluating how much the Dodger had figured out.

“That was a fairly obvious pat-down,” the thief ended Oliver's speculation, “but I should warn you - before you raise any alarms - I've placed three charges in highly populated areas around this fine gathering. So many important gentlemen and lovely ladies,” he crooned. Oliver's eyes darted over his shoulder to find Felicity and Diggle watching for his signal several yards away. “It would be a shame if I was unable to cancel the countdown or had cause to trigger it now.”

Oliver went limp, surrendering as an untrained do-gooder would, and waited for an opening.

“Good.” The Dodger released his grip and smoothed his lapel, wrinkling his nose at the damp fabric. “Now, since I can't have you following me...” He reached into a pocket for a metal collar. “I'll deactivate this at the same time as the other devices, when I'm clear of pursuit.”

Felicity looked worried; Diggle was moving forward as Oliver took the short necklace. Shaking his head for Diggle's benefit, Oliver looked down at the small device, engineered to decapitate and incinerate. “What the hell, man?” He added a rich-boy whine as he said, “I'll just tell the cops about the bombs.” In the background, he saw Diggle tense and begin whispering fervently into his ear-piece. “Why do I gotta wear this?”

Dodger's eyes narrowed, his gaze considering. “Just the price of being a hero, lad.” And he left a deliberate gap in his defense, holding his remote detonator just a little too loose.

Oliver ignored the clear faint, resisting the lure that might show this dangerous man just who he truly was. He snapped the collar around his neck with an entitled sigh worthy of his teenaged sister. The device chirped, active and deadly.

Dodger scrutinized his blank expression, and he channeled his worry for Felicity, for McKenna, for everyone at this party to tinge his eyes with the right cast of fear. The cocky jewel thief backed away, satisfied. He threw a jaunty wave at Oliver before disappearing from through the exit.

As soon as he was clear, Oliver grabbed Felicity's hand and pulled her into the cloak room. He barked at the attendant to leave, scowling as the man cast a knowing eye between them on his way out. Outside, Diggle hissed orders to security over their comms; he could handle the local bombs. 

“Felicity, I need you to show me how to use your tracker tech.” When he turned her, he was confronted with the black face of her phone as she held it inches from his nose. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Scanning for the frequency of the detonator. And you tone isn't helping,” she chided.

“What good will that do?”

“We'll see,” she sing-songed, her tone implying he should shut up and let her work.

He waited the space of five heartbeats, imagining the bomber getting further away, imagining the possibility of a bomb in this very room. “We don't have time for this,” he snarled.

Felicity glared over her phone long enough to snap back, “I'm not going to let you _die_ , Oliver.”

He took hold of her wrists, stopping short of ripping the phone from her hands. “You need to give me your phone, show me how to track Dodger, and then get to safety.”

She snorted.

“Felicity...” He watched her swipe and poke the screen.

“Take that, sucker!” Felicity crowed, snatching her hands back from his loose grasp.

“What?”

“I've got it, Oliver!” She place a palm on his lapel, her earlier irritation forgotten in her excitement. “I know which signal he's using for that collar. Give me one minute, and I can rig a disrupter frequency.”

“You can do that?”

“This stuff is why I'm here, right?” There was an edge to her voice.

The multitude of reasons he wanted her by his side flashed through his mind, and suddenly he was grabbing her head, fingers sunk deep into her silken hair, lips moving upon her mouth as if to form all the words of every reason at once. Felicity gasped, pushing him back. He respected that, ending the kiss, but knew his need was raw in his eyes. For one moment she simply looked at him. Then an answering need sparked in Felicity’s eyes, and she pressed against him, pulling at the fabric of his coat and tugging at his hair, almost punishing him with her demanding kiss.

A second later Diggle burst in. He took one look at their embrace and rolled his eyes.

“Oh for the love of God, you two. You need to work this shit out.”

Felicity jumped away from Oliver with a squeak and returned to her phone while Oliver smoothed his clothing and faced Diggle.

“Dodger said there were three bombs in the building.”

“I heard.” Diggle nodded. “He was telling the truth. We found the first in a potted plant by the auction block. Good news is they aren't as sophisticated as the collar.” He gestured to Oliver's neck. “We can probably find them and disarm them in about ten minutes, but they'll need me to lead the search.” He looked hesitant to leave, glancing between the two of them.

Oliver acknowledged Diggle’s concern by nodding once, then started flipping through the coats hanging along the near wall. He placed his bluetooth in his ear as he fingered a leather jacket. “Keep in touch by phone. I'll go after Dodger and take him down the second the last bomb is cleared.”

“What about your collar, man?”

“Felicity’s on that.” Oliver shrugged off his suit jacket and tugged on the black leather. 

“She can do that?”

“Seriously, where’s the trust, guys?” Felicity stepped forward. “Okay, I'm still working on the amplitude, but I've got a frequency cancelation program running. As long as this phone stays in range, your collar won't receive any signal sent to the collar.” Her brow wrinkled as she thought. “I could probably do the same to his bombs here, if I could install my app –”

“– No time for that,” Oliver interrupted. He zipped up the jacket collar high, concealing the green LED of the collar. “We need to find this guy before he leaves the range of your tracker. He already has a three minute head-start.”

“... We?”

“Oliver, that is not a good idea,” Dig objected.

“It's the only play we have, Dig.” Oliver smiled tightly at Felicity. “You're coming with me.”

**~**

Oliver held Felicity's hand in his as he exited the hotel and assessed the surroundings.

“Talk to me, Felicity.”

“He's heading towards Adams and O'Neil.” Her head snapped up from her display in concern. “At the clip he's going, he's got to be in a vehicle.”

He dropped her hand and swung to the left, unsurprised to hear her heels clipping along behind him. Oliver approached the large biker he'd spotted earlier.

“Hey, I need your bike.”

The biker glanced at his suit and at Felicity in her short gold dress, and smirked. “You're kidding me.”

“No.” Oliver put his full weight behind his round-house, dropping the man to the cold cement. He grabbed the spare helmet for Felicity, settling it over her shocked face before grabbing the biker's own helm for himself.

“I can't believe you just did that,” Felicity protested through their bluetooth connection.

“What just happened?” Diggle asked.

“Guys, focus on the mission. Felicity, hold on to me tight.” He helped her straddle the bike behind him and find her balance while ignoring Diggle's grunt and Felicity's mumbled concerns.

Felicity's arms surrounded his chest with crushing strength, then relaxed on one side as she struggled to read her phone display. “This isn't going to work, Oliver!” Her hands trembled.

“You can do this,” he soothed, willing his confidence into her. “Just follow my body.” He stretched her free arm across his chest so that she could grip a pocket strap over his breast. “Lean when I lean and trust me.” He kicked the motorcycle into life and felt her entire body squeeze against him, her breasts pressing his back, her thighs running parallel to his.

“What if I drop the phone!” Stress raised her voice an octave.

“Don't,” he advised, pulling into traffic and flooring the gas.

“He just turned onto Hill,” she spit out before shrieking as he banked through the turn at Adams.

To refocus her nerves and distract himself from the expanse of white thighs now straddling his legs, Oliver scolded, “This would be easier if you'd come for that ride earlier today.”

As he expected, she returned fire. “You did not just turn this into an I-Told-You-So!” She leaned more fluidly into the curve at Hill Avenue, and Oliver smiled despite their situation.

Diggle broke in, “Found the second bomb, and the first is disarmed.”

He both heard and felt Felicity's sigh. As he slowed for a light, she fired off directions. “He's one block from us. If we cut through Heroes' Plaza, we'll end up right behind him.”

“Hang on!” he commanded.

The cycle sliced in front of a red Buick, and popped up on the curb. Pedestrians scattered as they crested the plaza steps. He felt Felicity bury her helmet between his shoulder blades as they started down, the vibrations echoing through the bike into their bones. Felicity yelped, and he heard one of her shoes go flying at the second landing.

“Second bomb done. Still looking for the last,” Diggle hissed.

They hit O'Neil at a bad angle. Oliver leaned backward on instinct, willing Felicity to feel the subtle shift as he slid against her. The bike was righted, and they were off again, heading east.

“Where is he now?” Oliver cursed the frustration in his own voice, but it was dawning on him how much easier it would be to look through windows or over hoods without Felicity on the bike.

“There!” Felicity hit his leg with the phone. “The grey sedan at the light ahead. See him?”

He contemplated slowing to let Felicity off, but then the light changed and the Dodger's car accelerated. Oliver punched the motorcycle, ramping up gears as he zipped between cars.

“Hard right!” Felicity directed, her fists full of his borrowed leather jacket.

“Got him!” Oliver turned onto the quieter Hemlock Avenue and saw a solitary figure at the sedan's wheel. “Tell me you've found the last bomb, Diggle.”

“Just did.” Dig's voice crackled in his ear. “Disarming now.”

Oliver moved in for the kill as the Dodger began to speed down the near empty street. He'd spotted the bike, but he wouldn't get away. Oliver herded the sedan down Jefferson, knowing the construction would provide useful obstacles. He appreciated Felicity's silence, as he pulled up alongside the sedan and pulled a dart from the quiver on his calf. He flung the dart down into the sidewall of the rear tire. Sparks and smoke blocked his view for a moment, then he watched as the car ran up a parked car and flipped into his path. Anticipating, he used the front brakes to skid sideways and come to a safe halt, nine feet away.

“Get to cover,” he ordered Felicity, pleased when she obeyed without question.

The front cab of the sedan was smashed. Fluids bled from the Oldsmobile into the dark asphalt. Then a rustling within broke through the crackling flames of the tires.

“That's it. We have it, Oliver.” Diggle sighed. “Last bomb: disarmed.”

Oliver dismounted the bike calmly, closing in as the thief scuttled out the passenger window over broken glass. He thought of the eight people the Dodger had left dead in Europe. He thought of the criminal scum that died in Starling. He thought of all the people at the gala who been threatened. It would be so easy to kill him.

He thought of Felicity hiding nearby, watching everything he did.

The Dodger climbed to his feet, singed but intact. “Don't do anything stupid,” he warned, holding up his remote. “I had the foresight to place insurance measures at the hotel. Touch one hair on my head, and watch your city burn.”

Oliver waited, knowing that button was also linked to the collar around his neck.

“No!” Felicity ran out from behind the row of cars behind Dodger. The man spun to face the obvious target in shining gold, and it was the only opening that Oliver needed. Striking first at the hand holding the detonator, he sent the thing flying while he struck kneecap and ribs, finishing with an elbow to the collarbone.

Felicity gaped from inside her open helmet at the human piled at her feet.

“What were you doing?” Oliver roared.

“I was out of range!” she screamed. “Do you have a death wish?”

The implications hit him solidly in the chest, both the reality of his near death and the fact that Felicity had saved him, literally with wifi and sequins. He stepped forward to sweep her up into a hug as she limped on one high heel. Then he saw Dodger move.

Like a snake, the man whipped out a rod-like weapon, swinging it towards him. Oliver dropped to his knees and rolled, twisting the taser from the Dodger's grasp before plunging it against the prone man's chest.

This time the Dodger stayed down.

**~**

The police lights flickered behind them as Oliver turned the motorcycle down Ash Street. The cops would be busy securing the scene of the crash for several minutes, giving them time to slip away. They’d left the Dodger, bound hand and foot, with the Queen brooch pinned to his lapel, and Felicity had dropped an anonymous tip to Interpol to come get their boy before he got super chatty with the SCPD about the Hood’s new friend in gold sequins.

Once they were clear, Oliver turned down a side alley, then under an overpass away from the light of street lamps and stars. Felicity clambered off the bike while he pulled off his helmet and unzipped the jacket to mid-sternum. He used the rearview mirrors to examine the blinking collar around his neck and pulled out the remote he'd confiscated. He waited until Felicity was pulling off her own helmet.

“Oliver, no!” Felicity rushed back towards him over the dark cement, hands outstretched, but he’d already pushed the button.

The collar uncoupled with a metallic whimper. Felicity reached him a few seconds later, mouth open in an adorable red 'o.' Oliver preempted any tirade with his index finger, gently hooking her chin and pressing up to close her jaw. As she sputtered he swung his leg over the seat, swiveling to face her with crossed arms and savoring the way her shape shimmered in the low light.

“You, you just...”

He tilted his head, enjoying her search for words. He flicked his gaze between her and the collar. A few more buttons pressed on the remote and the light on the collar sputtered and died.

“Fine. Okay. You know your bombs.” Felicity's held her arms akimbo. “I still could have helped make it safe. You really do have a death wish, don't you?”

“No,” he disagreed, tucking the disarmed explosive in the pocket of his borrowed jacket. “I just don't want to see anyone else die.” He met her eyes, not bothering to hide the pain as the sound of his father's gun echoed in his memory.

“Oh.”

The single syllable hung in the air between them. Oliver could see the wonder and concern building in her, and he appreciated even more that she reigned in her curiosity. It was like the mystery of _why_ he chose not to share was as important to her as the _what_ he hid, as if the sordid details were less interesting to her than the reality of who they'd helped him become.

He reached for her in that pregnant silence, the tips of his fingers skimming the faint glimmer of her hips. They traced the lines of that damn gold dress to the edge of its ridiculous skirt until the pads of his little fingers brushed gently across the skin of her outer thighs. Then his hands made the return journey, ghosting along her body with a reverence. Felicity's hands floated to rest on his bicep, just above the curve of his elbow. She claimed his biceps with a firmer pressure than he allowed himself. He cursed the leather jacket for blocking the warmth of her palms and watched the glowing contrast of her digits in the low light: white on black leather, crowned with dark nails, snaking up his arms.

“I told McKenna tonight...” She retreated at his words, and now he did hold her, settling his hands securely on the swell of her rear to hold her near. “I told her that the island changed me.” He watched curiosity win out over uncertainty in Felicity's expression. “I said it made me question who I could trust. I realize now, after the things I've done, that I'm not exactly worthy of trust myself.” She was so quiet now, a shadow falling over her face as she listened. Oliver pressed on, needing her to hear this. “I spent so long feeling bad, that feeling nothing was preferable. I wasn't sure I could ever feel... good, again.”

“And now?” Her tone was an enigma.

“I do. Now, I do,” he could hear the anguish in his voice, at odds with his claim. He wasn't surprised when she tilted her head. At least he could see her expression again, skeptical though it was. “It's coming back in pieces: when I hug my sister, when I drive with Tommy, when I train with Diggle” When I first met you. “Even when I... 'date' an amazing woman.” He remembered the first time she'd been above him in the foundry, the smoothness of her inner thigh this afternoon, the beauty of her passion-drunk eyes, her laughter more than anything; it was all so good and pure and out of reach. His hands had crept up her waist, his fingertips pressing the bare flesh of her back, slowly pulling her body towards him.

“So, you're realizing you can still feel good,” she summarized, and he might have believed her completely unmoved if not for her fingernails rasping soft circles on the fabric of his dress shirt.

Nodding, he let his fingers linger on the small of her back, his pinky flirting with the tab of the skirt’s zipper.

“Dating women makes you feel good.” A hard edge crackled along her words.

“Yes. No!” Oh, god, for a genius she could be so obtuse. “Dating _you_ makes me feel good. You are good, Felicity. And I'm not fucking worthy, but I want you anyway.”

He really wanted to gather her up and kiss her, dip his hands into her dress, take her right here. He'd always communicated better with his body than his words. Instead, he held himself still, contented his hands with the span of her ribcage, and watched confusion and irritation war across her face.

“But you said we weren't dating,” she argued.

“You said that,” he returned with patience. “In the lobby and at lunch.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You agreed.”

“I thought that's what you wanted. Then, the vault –”

“Ha!” Felicity snapped. “You kissed me first.”

“You melted.” He probably shouldn't sound so smug.

“You wish!” She threw a pointed finger at his face, protesting by rote, then conceded with a sigh, “Okay, but you almost lost it when I went down on you.”

And now he was growing hard against the soft curve of her belly as she rested fully against him. He wasn't sure she'd noticed yet, so he cleared his throat. “And I made you come with my tongue and three fingers less than twelve hours ago.” He smirked.

She panted slightly, shifting against him, then stilled.

She shifted again, very deliberately, rubbing against the thin wool of his dress slacks.

Oliver couldn't contain his groan.

Felicity's smile was pure sin. “So, what are we going to do about this... situation?”

“I want to keep seeing you.”

She cocked her head. “Which part?”

“Felicity!”

Her fingers toyed with his shirt buttons. She glanced down, not meeting his gaze as she asked, “Are you really saying you want to date me?”

“Yes.” No need to equivocate. Finally.

Oliver gave his hands leave to roam her body again, one heading north towards her hair, the other south towards that provoking slit in her skirt.

A large truck thundered overhead, its lights flashing off the dark windows of the nearest building.

Felicity caught his gaze, leaned down, and _licked_ the skin between his collarbone and Adam's apple.

“Fuck,” was his only commentary.

She stood on her tiptoes and whispered, hot and husky into his ear, “Anyone could come by and see us.”

And the thing was, she wasn't saying it like a warning or a complaint. In fact, she sounded very... turned on by the idea.

Suddenly, Oliver could think of nothing in the world he'd rather do than take Felicity Smoak fast and hard under the 518 overpass until she screamed his name to the city lights. She must have felt a similar urgency, because she pulled his head down, opening her mouth to his, clawing at his chest through his shirt, her body pressing wildly against him, while his hand ran up her thigh quicker than a bear to honey, hooking her lingerie and tugging so hard it snapped.

She yelped.

“I'll buy you another,” he promised, trailing kisses across her nose, cheeks, eyelids.

“No, my foot.” She hopped.

“Oh, shit,” He was such an ass. He'd forgotten about her missing shoe, and here he was getting ready to grind her into the pavement.

“'S'okay,” she gasped. “Just let me...” She was climbing him, raising one knee onto the long seat, anchoring herself with her grip on his shoulders, and then her other knee was jammed between his thigh and the steering column of the motorcycle. She was sitting atop his cock with only a few millimeters of fabric between them. “See? Solved.” She beamed up at him.

He rocked, using the leverage of his feet on the ground to grind into her mound, then devoured her moans. Their tongues mated, sliding in and out, tasting each other. He had already grown addicted to her lipstick, her toothpaste, her gum: whatever it was that made her taste like glory and life. She began to bounce, leaning with full trust back against his forearm as she rubbed herself against him. He really wanted to help her, make her come five times before plunging in. She'd just giving him his best orgasm in six years – maybe ever – this afternoon; he should be able to hold out. But now he could smell her, sweet and tangy, she was so wet below, and she was sucking on his neck so hard, he'd have a new mark in the morning, and he also really wanted to be inside her now.

Then Felicity's fingers were on his belt buckle. She leaned so far back, he had to catch her ass with his other hand. The skirt had rode up completely, so that was a nice surprise because she had an ass made for worship. Seriously, she should never sit down; it was too good. But her fingers were great too, because that belt was off already, his fly undone and – God, yes – his cock was in her hands.

She thumbed the head, fingers curled around the base of his shaft, squeezing and stroking. He groaned, thrusting into her grasp. Oliver buried his face in her neck, gently scoring her nape with his teeth then soothing with his lips and swirls of his tongue.

“God, Felicity, I need to be inside you,” he confessed.

Her satisfied hum vibrated through her sternum and along his cheek, and he almost forgot himself because it just felt so right for her to rise up and slide down him, and he had his hands full of Felicity on either side of her magnificent hips, helping her do just that when she stopped.

“Oh, fuck.” It didn't sound like the kind of 'oh, fuck' he wanted from her. “Oliver, do you have...” she moaned as she bucked against his thumb, trying to make her feel better, give her whatever she needed to keep going. “... a condom? Fuck, I left my purse behind.” Her hands stretched across his shoulder blades, pressing into him with despair, stretching the leather.

The leather. Fuck. He'd put condoms in his suit jacket. “Shit!” He banded one arm around her waist and fumbled for the first pocket of his stolen jacket with blind hope. Felicity figured out his goal and helped him search. Together they unzipped the jacket and ripped through the pockets, dropping movie stubs and loose change on the pavement in their haste. His fingers hit plastic with a metallic crinkle. They both held their breath as he pulled out the small packet and Oliver squinted at the date.

At the wide smile breaking over his face, Felicity smirked and grabbed the condom. She tore the wrapper and sheathed his cock. The caress of her fingers refocused him, centered him. She pulled on his shoulders and raised herself with bared thighs. She really didn't need the help, but he swept up the back of her thighs with his hands, cupping the curve of her ass for nominal support, enjoying the hell out of the way her muscles flexed in his palm. Their foreheads rested together, as they looked at his erection pressing against her heat. She reached down with one hand and took hold of him. She slid his flesh across her folds, moaning as it crossed her clit, then down her valley until his tip slipped into her opening.

Rising half an inch higher, she took him inside. Her head lolled against his, pressing cheek to cheek until her lips found the corner of his mouth and she was kissing him as she finally seated herself fully on his cock. She surrounded him: her thighs riding his hips, her arms hugging his torso and neck, and her slick pussy wrapping his cock completely. He pressed into his heels, tilted his hips, joined her slow movement.

They moved together, knowing the rhythms each enjoyed now, and it was impossibly better than before. They took their time, savoring every inch of pressure and release, each place they touched was a comfort, each kiss of night air a balm to hot flesh. Even her breathing matched his, played out in the gaps between their lips and the music of their sighs.

Unhurried, Oliver's hands stroked along her spine and over her ass. Tangled in her hair, he found the catch for the halter top of her dress. Felicity gave her hips a particularly wicked twist on the way down, and he retaliated by flicking the first clasp. Caught up in her undulations, she didn't feel the other one go until the dress fabric was sliding down, pooling in her lap. She gasped as Oliver took one perfect nipple between his lips and sucked.

They picked up speed, the slow fuck becoming a fast pounding as her thighs slapped against his and the motorcycle rattled. He wanted to rub her clit, make her come, but their angle was making his eyes roll back, and her ass was magic in his hand, and her skin was soaked with a delicate sheen of sweet sweat.

Felicity's nails were digging into the back of his neck and annoying pain was the only thing to help ground him before he flew off into space. She was working, twisting, grinding so hard. Her body was so fucking hot. Whatever her workout was, it fucking worked for him because – God – she was leaning back, twisting him in so that his tip hit her shallow then slid along her inner wall, and – oh, hell – her inner muscles were starting to flutter grasping and sucking his cock, and he couldn't, he just couldn't stop as the muscles at the base of his spine and of his thighs tightened, then released as he spilled into her and she came apart in his arms.

For an eternity, they clung to each other on the back of a stolen motorcycle, in the dark of the Starling City night. Worthy or not, he would fight for this with everything he had.

When she finally lifted her head from his shoulder and blinked her blue eyes at him with a smile, he felt something within him break. He wanted to see that smile again and again.

“You're beautiful,” he blurted and watched as her smile grew.

“You're pretty beautiful yourself, Queen.”

A car zipped past the alley entrance, and Felicity ran a hand over her exposed rump with a yelp.

He eased her off him with a laugh and helped her pull the skirt down and the top up. As he set her on the seat and stood to take care of the condom, he teased, “That dress is a terror.”

Her head snapped up.

He leaned and whispered in her ear, “Will you wear it to dinner with me?” He smirked.

Felicity's expression grew coy. “Maybe. Dinner where?”

“Table Salt?” He suggested, looking over the bike in preparation to leave.

Felicity had straightened her dress and hair, though she still sat on the bike due to her missing shoe. She frowned. “Isn't that where you took Detective Hall?”

He winced. “Uh, yeah.” He used to be so good at this. “The Dale is good, too.”

He glanced up at her silence.

“Oliver?”

He was going to hate whatever came next, he knew it. “Yeah,” he ventured.

“Would you have ever looked twice at me? Before the island?”

And yeah, that fucking hurt. “Felicity...” he begged. How could she ask that of him. She was one of the few people who knew just how different he really was from the old Oliver Queen.

She raised her hands in peace. “No, no. I don't mean... whatever it is you're thinking. I mean you wear two masks. Well, you don't wear a _mask_ , mask. Why don't you wear a mask?” She shook his head at his huff of frustration. “Sorry. Look, Oliver Queen and Verdant and those crazy lies you used to tell about scavenger hunts and energy drinks: they are just as important to your mission's success as the hood and grease paint.”

His chest puffed out. If he didn't breath, he could stay in this moment where she just understood him so completely and everything was good for once.

Of course, she continued, “So, we can't date.” Conviction rang through her frame. “No one would believe that playboy Oliver Queen would seriously date me. And I've already had enough side-eyes in the elevator at QC from our one Not Date lunch date.”

“Screw them,” Oliver spit. He grabbed her upper arms and willed her to understand. “Six years ago, I still would have wanted to do what we just did. You're gorgeous, Felicity.”

“Oh, that's nice.” Her smile drifted towards dreamy for a second before she jolted, “But no! You wouldn't have _stayed_. You shouldn't now. You need to open your club, and hold fundraisers, and take girls like McKenna to dinner.” He shook his head, opening his mouth to tell her how wrong she was when her smile turned mischievous, “and then come home to me.”

“To you?” He couldn't be hearing this right.

She walked her fingers up his shirt front with a grin. “It's perfect. We don't know if this... thing between us will last and neither of our reputations should have to suffer because of it. So...” She leaned forward and nipped his chin. God, he was already grown semi-hard for her again. “... we keep it secret. John will know, of course. But we probably shouldn't, uhm, again in the foundry. For his sake.”

“But you'll still see me?” Oliver could start to see the picture she painted.

“All over, all the time,” she confirmed, sounding pretty pleased with the prospect.

He'd be able to slip in and out of her apartment building. The place had lousy security. He saw his days laid out: breakfast with his sister, training with Dig, working at Verdant, a few hours of playing the playboy, then into the foundry. He'd be able to cross a name or two off the list, going quicker with Felicity running support, and then... they'd go back to her place. He could show her exactly what he could do with time and an actual bed. He could wake up with her in the morning, learn what her hair looked like on the pillows and if she was a morning person or not (he was betting not). It sounded good. It sounded _really_ good.

“Okay,” he agreed, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

“Okay,” said his new secret girlfriend.

Leaning forward, he mock whispered, “Let's go home.” At her nod, he climbed on in front of her and they drove into the night.

**~**

Felicity fell back onto her bed and looked up at the ceiling. Her life just kept taking one strange turn after the other. Two weeks ago, she'd found the Hood bleeding in the back of her car. Surprise number two: he turned out to be her crush-object, Oliver Queen. A day after that, she'd agreed to join his team, which was technically, sort-of, okay totally, breaking the law. Two days ago, she'd given in to her passions, made her move, and slept with him in his secret lair. Tonight, she'd become his secret girlfriend. A bit of emotional whiplash was to be expected, right?

She rolled over and grabbed her TARDIS pillow, hugging it to her, wishing it was him.

He'd left her in front of her apartment after they realized Oliver Queen would be missed when the police tried to return his jewelry. He was probably talking to McKenna Hall now. Jealousy swelled, and she punched down the pillow in response.

“This was your idea, Felicity. Secret girlfriend: you goober.” She rolled her eyes.

Because, really, she should have said 'no' to Oliver. Because she wasn't the kind of girl he'd end up with in the long run. He was gorgeous, dangerous, and obscenely rich. Growing up in Vegas, she'd seen girls throw themselves at men like him; it never ended well.

“So, of course, you agree to be friend with benefits.” Felicity flopped back and scrubbed her eyelids with the heel of her hands, trying to see things more clearly.

She knew the real reason she asked for the secret relationship was to spare herself eventual embarrassment. Eventually he’d leave her. She knew she agreed to continue seeing him because she was basically, selfishly, destructively addicted to his amazing body and the crazy, wonderful things he said to her. But she was _smarter_ than that.

“Why are you setting yourself up heartbreak? You could fall in love with this man.”

That last statement rang false. It was just wrong. She was being brutally honest with herself tonight, and she knew it was _wrong_.

It wasn't that she _could_ love Oliver, because the thing was...

“Oh, fuck.”

… she already did.

She loved Oliver. She just hoped her heart could handle her new, strange life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> END of "All this Aggravation"
> 
> That's all I have for now! Sorry to end on a slight downbeat, but we all know that sex isn't known for uncomplicating matters. This felt true to the version of the characters I've been working with.
> 
> I do have ideas to follow this up with a few more stories. I've had fun speculating how "The Huntress Returns" would play out with Oliver and Felicity secretly dating. What do you guys think?


End file.
